Charmed
by innocent as far as you know
Summary: Consulting werewolf detective Sherlock Holmes has found his mate and has for one night, but, in the morning, she runs from him. Later, he finds her again at New Scotland Yard, but she's too busy gushing over John to notice him. Will he manage to woo his mate in the end? Omega!Fic Werewolf!Sherlock x Witch!OC Au
1. Chapter 1

In this fic, the people of the "underworld" have told the human population of their existence. the "underworld" consists of all of the creatures considered fictitious. Human and Other relations are still a little tense, but humans are beginning to see the uses of the types of different people that make up more than half the population.

-.:o0O0o:.-

There it was again, thought Sherlock, glancing at the tables across the street. That particular cafe had gone in across the street from 221B Baker Street only a few weeks after the old building had been blown apart by Moriarty.

He had seen the new construction as it began, as the owner rushed outside to yell at one of the work men for not working fast enough. He had seen the owners wife had started an affair with the baker across the street. He may have also mentioned to Mrs. Hudson that her love interest, the same baker, was not as faithful as he might have her believe.

All through the construction, the romance, and the heart break- he was watching, seeing, deducing, and- though John had told him off a couple of times, judging the dull busybodies and their everyday, repetitive lives.

And he had been there, at the window of his living room, at three in the morning, playing his violin in a screeching, hissing, vile and violent manor, keeping John awake while he thought and grouched about without a case to satisfy his mind. He had been there and he had seen a girl as she walked along Baker Street and took a seat at one of the outside tables.

As if the late hour wasn't strange enough, she was young- probably fresh out of high school and looking almost too young to be out and about at this hour of the night, when the predators and beasts and monsters come out to play and prey. She had short hair with product spiking it up, several ear piercings glinting in the light of the street lamp, and she was wearing a tattered pair of jeans that had been covered in graffiti.

Sherlock could tell from the angle of some of the drawings that she had done them herself, and rather recently judging by the color, and with such care that the images obviously meant something to her- but what? Vines and flowers couldn't mean that much to her, there was nothing to suggest any kind of fondness for plants- and anyway, the geometric patterns didn't fit with the same theme... Maybe the pants weren't hers? But no, it couldn't be, since they fit her so perfectly and the colors on the side of her left palm indicated she had drawn them herself.

Then she shifted and he saw two things: not only was this girl ambidextrous, judging by the identical blurs of color on her right hand, but she had a bag with her- a brief case, in fact. It was large, a mans briefcase, and of a good, high quality leather- or at least it had been at one time... It now had slight scuffs on the bottom and sides from where it would rub against her clothing as she walked and where it would rub against rough ground as she set it down.

She had received it from a family member, possibly a father. The man had taken good care of it, conscientious of appearance, as evidenced by the polished look of the top. But she hadn't taken care of it, showing resent or some ill intent towards the man. She had attached a strap to the bag, so she was now able to wear it on a shoulder, allowing her to keep her hands free.

But most interesting of all was the fact that she was hiding something. Her hands were clutched around the front of her shirt, using it to cover her neck, and, other than that, she wasn't actually doing anything. She had just sat down at the table and clutched her clothing instead of calling for a server...

The café was actually a revolutionary concept, built to cater to all types of... people... It was open at all hours, with more nocturnal people taking the night shift in order to serve people like vampires and incubi- those that thrived in darkness. It didn't hurt that most people of the "underworld" were more comfortable at night-time, where there were less humans to gawk at them.

So... Was she Other? Or just a human out unusually late?

Before Sherlock had time to really pursue that train of thought, the girl picked up her bag and left the cafe. Sherlock, not wanting to miss a chance at whatever this may turn out to be, quickly shoved on his shoes and rushed out the door to follow.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a dark night, the clouds having moved to cover the moon, which had been full two nights previously. Sherlock trailed the woman, curious, and noticed that he was not alone in his pursuit of her. Two other figures had come out of the café and were attempting to follow the woman as well. Sherlock snorted at their attempt at stealth.

Finally, she lead them to a dead-end alley, where she turned around and addressed them.

"You can both come out now," she said. "I know you're there, so you can stop trying to be stealthy, your attempts are laughable." Sherlock froze before realizing she must have been referring to the two other tails she had picked up. Two men crept out of the shadow, both brawny and wearing black. She turned to face them.

"Now why don't you tell me why you've been following me for the past two days," she said. One of the men spoke.

"The boss don't want nothin' to happen to his little charmer. He sent us out to take care o' you nice and pretty-like." This man was an idiot. Not only was he horrible at his job, but Sherlock could see that he was the only person that thought he was still in a loving relationship, despite the fact that he hadn't seen or heard from his spouse for three- no, four days.

"Well, that's awful kind of your... Boss... What did you say his name was again?" She asked.

"His name is M-" Started the dumb one, only for his partner to elbow him harshly in the side.

"He just cares for your well-being, isn't that all that matters for now, Miss Riley Walker?" Said the second man, apparently in possession of more wit than his counterpart.

"Well, couldn't you just bugger off for a little bit?" Riley asked in an annoyed tone. The smart one shook his head. "Do you even know why you're following me?" She asked. again the men shook their heads. She smirked.

"Good," she stated, "That's the answer I was hoping for." In a flurry of movement, she reached into her brief case and pulled out two glass bottles, throwing them down hard onto the ground between the two men then grabbing a part of her shirt and holding it over her mouth and nose. Sherlock quickly did the same, assuming she was the expert on how to not get affected by whatever was in those bottles, which were starting to smoke and let off a hazy blue mist. The two thugs were too close to avoid inhaling it and they started stumbling around woozily. Finally, they both slumped down onto the ground, unconscious.

"Finally, that's over with," said Riley, straightening her shirt. "I have stuff to do tomorrow." She picked up her brief case and headed towards entrance to the ally.

"Not so fast," said Sherlock, stepping into the glow of the near by street lamp. Riley glanced up and her eyes quickly grew very wide in fright. She fumbled her hand in the pocket of her pants and threw a glass vial towards him, intending for it to hit the ground at his feet. In her nervousness at the unexpected confrontation, her arm had been too shaky and the vial had broken open in the space between them. Her eyes matched her expression of horror as she tried to back away from whatever potion had been in the container, but her movements came too late.

Sherlock knew that, since her body was smaller and lacked the distinct scent of wolf, that she would succumb to the gas before he did. He stumbled forward, trying to catalogue all that he could before he lost his mental faculties to the concoction. He could blearily make out a part of the label, the word 'untested,' before everything went fuzzy.

-.:o0O0o:.-

Next chapter should be Riley's point of view


	3. Chapter 3

'I hate mornings,' I thought to myself as I woke up. My head was hurting terribly and I could feel a dull ache in my abdomen, though it wasn't entirely unpleasant.

I began to stretch, going through my plans for today, before freezing as I became a little more aware of my surroundings. I was in a bedroom, on the bed, but it wasn't my bedroom or any that I had seen before. I was also nude. That wasn't even the worst part. The most troubling part of my analysis was the fact that there was a heavy arm slung around my waist.

I looked down. The arm was long and the hands looked distinctly mannish, the skin on both rather pale, even in comparison to my palled skin tone. Was I in bed with a vampire? I reached a hand up to the left side of my neck.

No puncture wounds on that side, though that could just mean that there had been some quick healing magic involved or I was bitten on the other side. I rolled my neck, no pain, so I thought I was fine. The person behind me shifted, the arm tightening and pulling me against a hard, warm, and bare chest, along with their hips – yep, it was definitely a man behind me.

I had to leave, not only did I have no memory of how the hell I ended up in a strangers bed, but the last thing I remembered from last night was throwing a bottle at... Who did I throw it at? Was it those thugs that had been following me for the past two days? Yeah, that must have been it, I decided.

I gingerly attempted to lift up the arm so that I could slide out from under it, but the man mumbled in his sleep, pulled me close, and turned the both of us around so I was now on the other side of him.

"Mmm..." He mumbled. "Mate... My mate..." Mate?! Oh, no- time to leave.

I looked up, finding a pillow that wasn't being used and, in a maneuver I was particularly proud of, I slid down the bed, out of his arms, and pulled the pillow into the space I had been so, hopefully, I wouldn't be missed.

Okay, clothing. I decided that it really would be best for me to find all of my things, since I had no idea what was outside of that door. I found my shirt, my bra, though it was a little worse for wear, and my pants were lying on the floor in a heap. Putting them on, I discovered a small rip in the thigh and a couple scrapes that hadn't made it all the way through the fabric. I contemplated getting a sewing kit later today to fix the hole, but then I decided to keep it. It gave my pants character.

Then, for my next trick. I needed to find my briefcase. I would trade all of my clothing now for that briefcase if need be, though I'd really rather it not come to that. Not seeing it in the bedroom, I edged out the door and found it just outside, on its side in the hall. Finally, I could leave.

I hadn't seen my shoes anywhere, but they were a mere formality, like when I was meeting with someone important, and I usually went without. I had been wearing some last night, so they were most likely around here somewhere, but I didn't really need them.

Just as I was about to go looking for the kitchen to maybe steal some breakfast, I heard noises from the bedroom. Shit, I thought, forget breakfast, its time to go now!

I grabbed my case and bolted down the hallway, undoubtably making enough noise to alert the man of my abrupt departure. I heard a low growl and then a whimper of sadness from the bedroom, and cursed my luck. He was a shifter! Shifters were often the best trackers due to their ability to use their animal senses in their human form, so it was going to be harder than ever for me to get away.

Change of plan, I stopped running and found myself in a living room. I ran over to the couch, taking my briefcase off my shoulder as I went, setting it on the cushion beside me and nearly ripping open the zipper.

Footsteps pounded down the hallway as the shifter ran towards the living room, probably following my scent. He burst into the room, stumbling slightly as he came to a stop at the sight of me, giving me the chance to get a good, long look at him.

He was tall and thin, with lithe muscles that I'm sure were stronger than they looked. What might have possibly been a fabulous head of silky black curls was greatly resembling a rats nest sitting atop his head. He looked shorter than he might have been since, instead of standing up straight, he had opted for a slightly hunched forward, more predatory stance, his dark, animal eyes fixated on me as sniffed the air. He was also- I swallowed-naked.

"Mate," he stated, voice so low that it was almost a grumble. I looked up, doing my best to seem harmless while my hands slowly searched my briefcase for something that would help me.

"Well, ya see, its funny that you say that," I started, doing my best to be distracting while not inciting any rough or rash actions from this man. "I think there might be a slight misunderstanding about that whole mate thing."

He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side in confusion. It was adorable. He made a sound in his throat, a questioning sound.

"Well, see," what was I supposed to say now?! "I don't know if you have any memory of what happened last night, but I have a pretty good idea of what we got up to together," I said, pointedly looking away from his rather exposed privates. He took a couple steps towards the couch and I stood up, having found something in the briefcase that would hopefully be at least somewhat helpful.

"Now, don't take this the wrong way," I said, zipping my briefcase closed and subtly slipping the strap over my shoulder, wrapping the pendant I had found in my bag around my left hand. "I can't possibly be your mate." I had waited as long as I could to say this, because the reaction I got was exactly the one I had been expecting. He growled lowly, as if threatened or insulted by my words, and he lunged towards me. To do what, I don't know, but I didn't exactly plan on sticking around to find out.

It was just my luck that he stumbled over the shoes I had been looking for earlier, giving me enough time to activate the charm I had in my hand. It was one of my special creations, when activated it would make me invisible and, I hoped, it would also cover the majority of my scent.

I would have loved to stick around to see his face when he saw me disappear, but I really had to focus all my energy on getting down the stairs before he figured out that he could use his hearing instead of relying on scent and sight. I dashed down the stairs, out the door at the bottom, and into the streets before weaving through the pedestrians, but I was still very close to the building, close enough to hear it clearly when he let loose a rawr that changed into a howl, a raw sound of frustration and loss that sent shivers down my spine, but I shook it off, I had work to do.


	4. Chapter 4

I made my way down the street, doing my best to not bump into anyone, since despite the fact that I was invisible and didn't have much of a scent, I was still very much physically there.

It was decision-making time. How much of a threat was that shifter? Should I try to make my small scent trail even harder to discern? I had a meeting in two hours according to my watch, so did I really have time to be leaping all over London? I suppose I could take a quick nip down some side streets until I got to the spice shop... Yes, I decided, that's a good plan.

I took a sudden left down the street, breaking into a run, enjoying the sound of my blood in my ears, hearing my breath as it passed through my throat, feeling several pendants as they bumped against my chest under my shirt, listening, feeling, and reveling in the sound and feeling of my feet slapping against the pavement. I yanked the pendant from around my wrist, sticking it back in my pocket as I ran.

I was sweating lightly by the time I walked through the door of the spice shop, taking a deep breath of the smells of all the familiar herbs.

The spice shop was one of the new shops that had gone up after the Great Revelation, as I liked to call it, when all the people that were Other revealed our existence to the human population. There had been unrest and tenseness, some of which still persisted, but we were doing better, with establishments like this one, catering to mostly Others, popping up everywhere.

This one was filled with lots of useful odds and ends for all varieties of witches. Along one side there were rows and rows of books. Old books, new books, leather bound, un bound, black magic, white magic, gray magic, just about everything I could think of, it was practically a small library.

Next to the books were herbs. You could buy them by the bushel, by the barrel, the pound, the ounce, gram, and by the bag. Some of the herbs were too rare or valuable to be just out and about in the shop, despite all of the anti-theft spells that I had felt tingling against my skin as I entered.

I always enjoyed looking over the different charms and jewelry that they had, snorting at the shoddy workmanship and sniggering at how the spells laid over the metal would only last a few hours at most if activated and, after the hours were up, it would either stop working or the spells would start to unravel, causing unpredictable results.

This shop had been opened by a friend of mine two years ago, and had visited a couple of times over the years. He often employed the younger ones in his coven, to teach them responsibility and diversity. I looked up to the back of the shop and, sure enough, there was a woman behind the counter.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't little Riley Walker," she said.

"Hey, Cynthia," I greeted casually.

"What have you been up to?" She asked, and just as I was getting ready to answer, she put forth another question, one I was hoping she wouldn't ask. "How's your coven, nowadays? Old Henley's, right?" I paused and became very still.

"Yes. Actually, I'm between covens right now..." I said delicately, internally wincing at the way her eyes lit up in interest.  
"Oh, between covens, you say?" She asked, suddenly very invested in this conversation...

"Um, I believe a shipment of herbs came in for me, I came to pick them up." I said, a valiant effort to change the rather uncomfortable topic.

"Ya know," Cynthia purred, seeming entirely too vampirically seductive for a witch as she leaned across the counter towards me, exposing more cleavage than I really cared to see from her. Why was it that I felt like a small prey animal that had placed itself within the reach of a tigress?

"You could always join our coven, we would love to have you." She said, reaching under the counter to bring forth a brown paper package with my name on it.

"Have you ever heard of how kids will take a gap year between high school and college?" I asked her suddenly. Her face screwed up in confusion, brow knitting together.

"Yeah, but why-" she started.

"Well, I'm currently taking a gap year between covens," I said, grabbing my pre-paid package from her and running over to the door, turning to see her making her way around the counter towards me, an annoyed expression on her face. "The insolence of youth and all that," I finished, saluting her before running out of the shop.


	5. Chapter 5

I ran down the sidewalk and down two blocks before stopping to catch my breath, figuring I was most likely safe from Cynthia for the time being. According to my watch, my visit to the spice shop had taken enough time that I could now make my way to my meeting for the morning without being obnoxiously early.

True enough, I arrived at the New Scotland Yard at 10:47, only thirteen minuets early for my meeting with a 'Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.

I realize I didn't look particularly professional, with my bed head, ripped jeans, and bare feet, but honestly- that's really no reason to stop me on the way to the elevator! Some high-strung employee with slicked back hair and a pointy face broke away from a conversation with a female detective with a head of wild curls.

"Oi!" He said, striding over. "No loitering in the lobby, and you can't just stroll in here as you like!" Ugh, I really didn't want to deal with stupidity, especially after the events of this morning. I realize that taking an openly aggressive stance and growling at the man probably wasn't the best course of action, but something about the mans aura just set me off.

"I have a meeting," I ground out lowly, doing my very best impression of a dangerous and predatory shifter. I stormed past him and to the elevator, turning to face the room as the doors close, and managing to catch a glimpse of the mans taken aback expression.

After the doors closed and I had pressed the correct floor number, I let out a laugh and felt a weight lift off my shoulders, wondering what exactly had been wrong about the man to make me be so on edge like that...

I hadn't come up with an answer by the time the doors opened again on the third floor, revealing the great beginnings to a cubical farm.

"Excuse me," I said to one of the passing detectives. "Where would DI Lestrade's office be?" She pointed me to it and I went over and knocked on the door.

"Come in," came a voice from inside. I entered.

Lestrade was a fit man for being in his early forties, and I highly suspected that the coloring of his hair was due to genetics rather than age. Stress could also be a cause.

"Hello, Detective Inspector," I said, giving him a nod in greeting. He looked up from what looked to be quite a bit of paperwork. "I'm Riley Walker, we spoke on the phone." His eyes lit up in recognition.

"Oh!" He said, "The american charmer, wasn't it?" I blushed.

"Well, when you say it like that it sounds almost like 'Americas Sweetheart'..." He didn't really understand the reference, but that was alright, he didn't really need to.

"Okay, on to business." I said. "Are you aware of what it is that I do?" He gave a small shrug.

"Don't you, uh, take people's powers and make them into charms?" he asked. Well, he was sort of close, I guess...

"Sort of... How much do you know about witches?" I asked.

"Not much..." He admitted, a little chagrined.

"Okay, well each witch had a specialization," I began to explain. "We have schooling to learn the basics. You know, flying brooms, making basic potions, taking care of and identifying plants. Later, after a witch has mastered the basics, they branch out, trying to see what branch of magic they are best suited for.

I am what I like to refer to as a charmer. My skill is kind of rare, so it doesn't have a name. Its really making a transference of specialized energy, usually magical in origin, and placing it in a material that has been doused in my refined essence. Herbs can be used to get specific effects and other rituals can be incorporated. I haven't really explored the full extent of what I can do..."

Lestrade looked puzzled as he tried to work out what I had just told him. Deciding to take pity, I explained.

"I can take certain traits from people, usually magical ability, and I can transfer it to a material. I then take that material and make it into a charm, so it can be worn. The charm is usually relatively small and inconspicuous, and the activation 'code' can be changed. With some, its holding the charm a certain way. With others, its holding it and saying something specific. With ones that could specifically save someone in a life or death circumstance, it only requires skin contact and for that person to say a word three times." He accepted my explanation more easily when I wasn't using all of my nice long words, but something I had said seemed to be troubling him.

"Take?" he asked. "As in, you take that trait away from the person and they no longer have it?" I could see where he had gotten this idea, and I rushed to reassure him.

"No, no, no, no," I said in a rush, "I only-" I would have continued to explain, but the door to the office burst open, admitting... The shifter I woke up with?!

-.:o0O0o:.-

reviews are much appreciated and can influence the story


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